The Seven Champions of Christendom · chunk 1 of 43
Kirke, John · published 1638 · first performed or written 1635 [1634-1638] (Annals) romance · Red Bull Company (second) · Red Bull unassigned nearest T4 Love-longing and the lover's complaint · 517 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T4: love, heart, sweet, loves, fair, phillis, eyes, beauty, amyntas, lovers.
Ha, louder a little; so, that burst was well: Again, ha, ha; house, house your heads you fear-struck Stroke mortal fooles; when Calibs consort plaies A hunts-up to her, how rarely doth it languel In mine ears? these are mine Organs, The Toad, the Bat, the Raven, and the fell whistling bird, Are all my anthem singing Choristers; Such sapless roots, and liveless withered woods Are pleasanter to me, than to behold the jocund Month of May, in whose green head of youth, The amorous Flora strews her various flowers, And smiles to see how brave she has decked her girl: But pass we May, as game for fangled fools, That dares not set a foot in Arts dark secret, And bewitching path as Calib has. Here is my mansion, within the rugged bowels of this Cave, This crag, his Cliff, this den, which to behold Would freeze to Ice the hissing trammels of Medusa: Yet here enthroned I sit, more richer in my spells And potent charms, than is the stately mountain Queen, dressed with the beauty of her sparkling gems, To vie a lustre 'gainst the heavenly Lamps: But we are sunk in these Antipodes, so choked With darkness in great Calibs Cave, that it can Stifle day, it can and shall, for we do loathe The light, and as our deeds are black we hug the night. But where's this boy, my George, my love, my life, Whom Calib lately dotes on more than life: I must not have him wander from my love, further than Summons of my eye or beck can call him back again: But 'tis my fiend gotten, & deformed issue that misleads him, For which, I'll rap him in a storm of hail, and dash him 'Gainst the pavement on the rocky den: He must not lead my joy astray from me; The Parents of that boy begetting him, Begot and boar the issue of their deaths, which done, The child I stole, thinking alone to triumph in his death, And bathe my body in his popular gore: But Dovelike nature favoured so the child, that Calibs killing Knife fell from her hand, and stead of stabs I kissed I kissed there I lipped boy, and since have brought him up, Cope mate, and fellow with my own sweet son: And now the boy desires to know, what Calib Hath so long concealed from him, his parentage, Which still I must, as I have done, put off, And cast some pleasing game to file that question Out of his thoughts: His heart soars high, fame on his temple plays, And Calib fears her death by Autumn's day, For which my light winged spirit of the Air Grand Tarpax, prince of the gristy North: What, ho Tarpax, obey my charms, And with the steel tipped pinions of thy wings, Cut through the Clouds and fly unto thy Calib. No more my Calib, see thy Tarpax comes, More swifter than the motive of an eye, Mounted on wings swift as a thought I fly unto my Mistress: now, what wouldst thou?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
HA, lowder a little; ſo, that burſt was well: Agen, ha, ha; houſe, houſe your heads you feare▪ Stroke mortal fooles; when Calibs conſort plaies A Huntſe-up to her, how rarely doth it languell In mine eares? theſe are mine Organs, The Toad, the Batte, the Raven, and the fell whiſling bird, Are all my anthum ſinging Quireſters; Such ſapleſſe rootes, and liveleſſe witherd woods Are pleaſanter to me, than to behold the jocund Month of May, in whoſe greene head of youth, The amorous Flora ſtrowes her various flowers, And ſmiles to ſee how brave ſhe has dekt her girle: But paſſe we May, as game for fangled fooles, That dares not ſet a foote in Arts darke ſecret, And bewitching path as Calib has. Here is my manſion, within the rugged bowels of this Cave, This c agge, his Cliffe, this denne, which to behold Would freeze to Ice the hiſſing tramels of Meduſa: Yet here inthron'd I ſit, more richer in my ſpels And potent charmes, than is the ſtately mountaine Queene, dreſt with the beauty of her ſparkling jems, To vie a luſtre 'gainſt the heavenly Lampes: But we are funke in theſe Antipades, ſo choakt With darkneſſe in great Calibs Cave, that it can Stifle day, it can and ſhall, for we doe loath The light, and as our deed es are blacke we hug the night. But wheres this boy, my George, my love, my life, Whom Calib lately doates on more than life: I muſt not have him wander from my love, further than Sommons of my eye or becke can call him back agen: But 'tis my fiend gotten, & deformed iſſue that miſleads him, For which, Ile rappe him in a ſtorme of haile, and daſh him 'Gainſt the pavement on the rocky den: He muſt not lead my joy aſtray from me; The Parents of that boy begetting him, Begot and boare the iſſue of their deaths, which done, The child e Iſtole, thinking alone to triumph in his death, And bathe my body in his popular gore: But Dove-like nature favoured ſo the child, that Calibs killing Knife fell from her hand, and ſtead of ſtabs I kiſt I kiſt there I lipt boy, and ſince have brought him up, Cope mate, and fellow with my owne ſweete ſonne: And now the boy deſires to know, what Calib Hath ſo long conceal'd from him, his parentage, Which ſtill I muſt, as I have done, put off, And caſt ſome pleaſing game to file that queſtion Out of his thoughts: His heart ſoares high, fame on his temple plaies, And Calib feares her death by Autumes day, For which my light wing'd ſpirit of the Aire Grand Tarpax, prince of the griſty North: What, ho Tarpax, obey my charmes, And with the ſteele tipt pinions of thy wings, Cut through the Clowds and flye unto thy Calib. No more my Calib, ſee thy Tarpax comes, More ſwifter than the motive of an eye, Mounted on wings ſwift as a thought I flye unto my Miſtreſſe: now, what wouldſt thou?